Ginny Weasley and the Red Shoes
by Astra M
Summary: The message on the box says, “A gift for you, from a secret admirer.” Returning to Hogwarts for her fourth year and still quietly pining over Harry, Ginny gets involved in a new Hogwarts club and a competition that leads her down a treacherous path.
1. On The Train

_**HP Fanfic – "Ginny Weasley and the Red Shoes"**_

_**Written April 2003 by Astra M.**_

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Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. This is a derivative work based on the Harry Potter series created purely for entertainment value; no profit is being made from its dissemination.

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Additionally, this story draws inspiration from the classic fairy tale "The Red Shoes," by Hans Christian Andersen, and the subsequent Michael Powell ballet film of the same title. Be forewarned.

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_Author's Preliminary Note: This story was originally conceived during three-year break between the releases of __**Goblet of Fire**__ and __**Order of the Phoenix**__. As you all know, at that point Ginny's character wasn't yet fully defined, and I started writing this story with a certain idea of her. After the release of OotP, I abandoned it because of several conflicting elements with the canon. But it's hard to completely walk away from a story when you've already written a good chunk of the ending, even if you know it's flawed. In any case, I haven't decided yet on whether I should "cheat" to finish this or merely plod along with it... so by all means, if you find it interesting, please add it to your Story Alerts, because it'll take awhile to finish. _

_Meanwhile, consider this to be a Ginny-centric A/U story that breaks off at the end of GoF. Also, the rating of this fic is largely K; the T rating comes from darker themes near the end._

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**Chapter One – On The Train**

A few moments after the final whistle shrieks the train shudders and pulls away from the station. I lean outside the window as it picks up speed, waving as the figures of my parents fall back into the distance. I suppose some think it childish but I don't care; I watch until they Disapparate from the platform before leaning back into my cabin. Now I finally feel I'm on my way. It's the first of September, and another year at Hogwarts has begun – my fourth one.

I'm sharing the compartment with a group of my fellow Gryffindors. They're the other girls in my year, a talkative, lively bunch who have all been very good friends with one another since almost our first day. I sought them out immediately upon boarding and now we're all busy catching each other up, trading our summer holidays as the countryside flashes by outside the window. After some time talk gives way to discussing the coming year with its usual concerns: classes and teachers, trends and fashion, new friends and old rivals, rumors and so forth. It goes on like this for hours and I'm enjoying it all very much, the laughter and joking and general silliness, and I'm talking so much I think I'll lose my voice. But I need to savor this: I know it won't last. And I'm right.

A breathless giggle cuts through the chatter. "_So_… there's something I have to tell you all…"

There is a dramatic pause as issuer of this message glances conspiratorially around the cabin. We all fall silent, immediately recognizing this cue for what it is. We're not fourteen for nothing.

Seeing she has our full attention, her eyes flash exultantly as she moves to huddle in the center of the cabin. I can't help but notice the other girls leaning in towards her – everyone but me.

"You'll never guess who owled me over summer!"

"Ooo… who?"

"Aha, I'll bet I know!"

"You don't mean…?"

"Yes! Armand – _Armand Forrester_!"

The squeals that follow this announcement ensure that she'll hold everyone's attention for the remainder of the trip. And not only that, but one topic will predominate. I feel a sinking feeling settling in my heart. Unthinkingly, I sigh. A foolish mistake, as it attracts Armand's _objet de l'amour_.

"I'm sorry, did you say something, Weasley?" Her bright tone has a brittle edge.

"No," I say readily. "I'm happy for you. _Really_."

I want this to appease her, but I see she isn't finished. Leaning towards me, she juts out her chin.

"Mmm… well that's good. I'm really glad you think so. Because you know, since we're all friends here – and I expect my _friends_ to be honest with me – it's only natural that I'd want to know if one of them didn't think he measured up some how."

"I didn't – "

"Oh, come on you guys," breaks in someone, hoping to smooth things over. "She thinks Armand's fine – right, Ginny?"

"Yes." And that's all I can say.

She relents, shaking her head at me in a mocking way, but I see the annoyance in her eyes. I shrug lightly, giving her a slight smile back. But what else can I do? There's nothing I care to say. I watch her toss her head as she turns back to the others, proceeding to fill them in on the finer points of love letters, and give myself a mental kick.

I think it's because of moments like these that I've never completely fit in with the others as I ought. They all talk openly about the boys they have crushes on. I, on the other hand, mostly just listen and nod my head. I know it bothers them. Sometimes they'll try to catch me off guard by dropping hints or teasing. Sometimes the teasing isn't so nice. But I always just smile and shrug, and sooner than not they'll give up. Then I'll breathe again.

The truth is I'd like to share. I'd love to confide. Wouldn't it be grand, to curl up in a private corner and whisper to my best friend all my secret longings? There was a time, too, when I could. And I did so without reservation.

I've regretted it ever since.

At this moment I can't help feeling like an interloper. They all draw together and I can almost feel an imperceptible barrier surrounding them. Joining them together. Keeping me apart. For a moment I feel a flash of anger at them, then at myself.

If I had my choice, there is another compartment I would be sitting in right now. For quite possibly the millionth time I imagine what it would be like. I'd sit next to Ron, to keep him from picking on Crookshanks and Pigwidgeon. Or I'd be talking to Hermione, whispering to her about things only girls can share. Or I might even catch Harry's eye, share a private joke with him….

But I can't fool myself. One-on-one I can hold my own with them. Even with Harry, if only to a limited extent. But when all three of them are together, some kind of private club springs up between them – Members Only.

Which I'm not.


	2. The Welcoming Feast

**Chapter Two – The Welcoming Feast**

By the time we reach Hogwarts I'm more than ready to get off the train and into the feast – anything to avoid listening to one more boast about Armand's "gorgeous slate-gray eyes." In my opinion, there's really only one color for truly gorgeous eyes, which most certainly isn't the boring brown of my own.

Not that I _moon_ over them, mind.

As I follow my housemates from the carriages into the Great Hall I look over and see that Harry, Ron and Hermione have already taken seats in the middle of the Gryffindor table. I automatically turn to go sit with them before I stop myself. Summer is over and this isn't the Burrow. I'm at a loss when I suddenly spot Colin Creevey sitting not too far away. I decide to take the seat next to him.

"Hullo, Colin!"

"Hi, Ginny!" He breaks into a smile which I return. It feels good to have someone who is sincerely glad to see you. "Isn't it great to be back?"

"It certainly is," I agree. Every year Hogwarts feels more and more like home to me.

We patiently watch the Sorting Ceremony, after which we launch into nonstop conversation. Before I know it, dinner is over and Professor Dumbledore is standing up to give beginning of term announcements. He has a few important comments, but I'm only half-listening, focusing instead on the back of Harry's head. I'm dwelling on troubling memories, wondering about what could possibly happen to him this year, when something unexpected catches my attention.

"…Quidditch tryouts will begin next week, and as there are several openings on many house teams, those of you hoping to garner glory should start preparing this weekend. Also, Professor Sinistra wishes to give notice that this year a new Dance Club will be starting." His eyes flash merrily over towards my brother, Fred. "Those of you needing to brush up on your footwork should make plans to attend."

Colin turns to me.

"You should join, Ginny."

"What, Quidditch?" I ask him, surprised. Before that moment I haven't given it serious thought, though Ron and Harry have been going on about finding a replacement for Wood all summer.

"Actually, I meant the Dance Club." Colin looks down at the table and I watch him scratch his ear; he'd been doing that since late last year. I find it rather funny. "It might be fun."

I glance at Harry out of the corner of my eye while I think again about the Quidditch tryouts. Surely growing up in a family overpopulated with male fanatics gives me an edge over the competition. Merlin knows I've played it often enough. Briefly I imagine myself on the pitch practicing with Harry, up in the air flying alongside him. It could be my one big chance to spend countless hours with him, legitimately. Of course, if I were to actually make it on the team I'd have to keep my mind on the game; I wouldn't be able to watch him in action like I could as a spectator…

Sometimes I really can't believe my mind still works this way.

I look back at Colin. He's waiting patiently for my answer.

"All right, Colin – let's!"


	3. The Dance Club

**Chapter Three – The Dance Club**

The allure of Quidditch aside, I probably would have chosen the Dance Club. I have always been curious about dancing, particularly the Muggle kind, ever since I was six and saw a strange item among the things in the shed (which, I suppose, is saying something).

The object in question was flat and square, with an oddly grooved black disc inside. On the outside was a lady wearing strangely ripped robes – a Muggle dress, I found out later – with wildly colored hair. She appeared to be singing (or maybe she was just scowling; it's so difficult to tell with Muggle photographs) and twisting her body in a way I'd never seen any of my relatives do at one of our family gatherings.

It looked interesting, but I knew better than to ask: Dad would have been overly encouraged, Mum disapproving, the twins would make fun, and Ron would have killed me. But I always wondered, just the same. I even practiced mimicking the lady in the privacy of my bedroom a few times. This would come back later to haunt me at the wedding of Mum's third cousin Sarah, but at the time I didn't know better. I was only having fun. And my attraction never faded.

So one week later I walk with Colin into a large room on one of the upper floors of the castle. Though not nearly as grand as the Great Hall, it's wide and spacious, with mirrors lining the walls and an open balcony facing the lake. I'm impressed; it's a room like I've always wished to live in – endless space and light. Many people are already inside from every house, and I notice that a lot of students are fourth years or younger. I suppose this may be in part because most of our class couldn't attend last year's Yule Ball. Honestly, they didn't miss anything.

No, I take that back – Neville was nothing but nice to me, and I really was lucky to be able to go, even if I did limp for nearly a week afterwards. And it wasn't at all Neville's fault that I didn't really enjoy myself. In truth there was a brief period when I had actually been looking forward to it. If only…

When I first found out about the Ball, I couldn't believe Mum had actually bought me dress robes – like she expected me to go! _Mum_, I wrote to her later that night, _only fourth years and older can go; you'll have to send my robes back_. Her helpful reply? _Nonsense, dear! You never know, someone may ask._

And so I spent the next month in some kind of wretched state, wondering if I even dared to hope for the impossible. There was only one person I wanted to ask me, but I knew that would never happen. And who above the third year even noticed me? So I bided my time by listening to what everyone else was planning, what they were wearing, who was asking whom out. And I knew about all the girls who were after Harry – it was hard to avoid, when everyone my class kept talking about it.

Still, I had a perverse pleasure in knowing that even with all those girls throwing themselves at him, Harry didn't have a partner. And when weeks went by and he still didn't ask anyone, it actually consoled me to think that perhaps there was no one he really liked after all – or liked well enough to take to the Ball, at least. I knew along with everyone else that he would have to take someone, but there's a world of difference between taking someone and _having_ to.

Because of this I had been mentally prepared, more or less, right up to the day that Neville asked me to go with him. By then it was getting so late that I had already resigned myself to not going. I was not even offended that he'd just been turned down by Hermione. It would be, I knew, my only chance to go, and Neville looked so forlorn when he came to me that I almost smiled – that he should be desperate to go with _me_ was too much. I felt that it would probably be all right. Neville was a nice person and would be a good escort. I could wear my dress robes; it wouldn't be a waste of money after all. I'd be one of the few younger students who actually went. The Weird Sisters would be there, I'd get to dance, stay up late, feel grown up… this might actually be a lot of fun.

If only it hadn't been for that _stupid_ bit with Harry at the very end –

Ah, but that was last year.

Colin and I stand off to the side among a group of our housemates as Professor Sinistra enters the room. To our great surprise she isn't wearing her usual teaching robes but rather something that looks like Muggle clothing. We exchange silent glances as she calls us to attention.

"To many people dance is merely a mechanical process. Little do they realize that dance is also a physical representation of emotions – one's feelings, one's motivations, one's innermost desires. The dancer's heart and soul is as much responsible for guiding their steps as their mind and muscles. By the end of the year it is my hope that you will come to appreciate and harness this expressive energy."

I can hear someone tittering nearby but I ignore them. I'm somewhat intrigued by what Sinistra is saying.

"Now, as I'm sure many of you are beginners, we will begin with some basic steps – everyone, partner up and we will start with the warm up exercises…"

There is murmur of excitement as we pair up, and I watch a lone Hufflepuff with curly hair craning her head around the room. I know her because of her infatuation with Harry – she was one of the girls who had actually asked him out to the Ball. I allow myself an ironic smile. To think: we're rivals and she doesn't even know it.

Movement to my left draws my attention, and I see Neville Longbottom passing nearby looking around for a partner. Colin and I have already agreed to stay together, which is a lucky thing for me as I couldn't have refused Neville if he asked. No, I wouldn't do that to him. He's such a gentleman in so many ways. If only he could dance…

My mind wanders as we go through the warm up. Then Professor Sinistra's voice rings out to direct us into the first position, bringing me back to the task at hand.

"Shall we?"

Colin holds out his arm jauntily and I can't help giggling as I take it. He's so earnest that sometimes he's a bit goofy, but he's such a nice person that for the most part we get along quite well. We move into position, Colin's hand on my waist and mine on his shoulder, and I look him square in the eyes. Our birthdays aren't very far apart, but Colin's still a bit small for his age – we're nearly the same height and build. But it probably makes him the perfect dance partner for me.

"Er, Ginny? Which foot did she say we start off with?"

Well, almost.


	4. An Announcement

**Chapter Four – An Announcement**

Days turn into weeks, and before long it's the middle of October. The Dance Club has shrunk by about a dozen, but there are still more than enough of us left to trod on each other. Still, we're having fun and learning a lot, and we must be progressing fairly well, enough so that Professor Sinistra looks a little less pained every time she greets us. Or maybe it's because she knows something that we don't.

I'm sitting to breakfast one morning with my roommates a few seats down from Harry, Ron, and Hermione when Colin suddenly appears from behind and grabs me, sending my cutlery clattering to the floor. Harry looks over. I suppose I should just be grateful nothing spilled this time… not that I've done stuff like that in years.

"_Colin!_" I shriek.

"Sorry, Ginny, didn't mean to startle you! But look _here_..." He waves a piece of parchment in front of me. "Professor Sinistra's just posted it."

I take the sheet from him and our group huddles together to read it.

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_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_is pleased to announce an open call for the_

**Hogwarts Winter Revue**

_An evening of light culture and general merriment to be had by all before embarking on the Winter holidays. Any and all talented students wishing to enter skits, songs, and dance numbers for the Revue should make haste and sign up in advance. House Points will be awarded to the evening's Best Act._

_Preliminary auditions to be held Friday, Oct 27th_

_Grand Balcony Room, 6:00pm_

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I wonder if this really isn't just one of Professor Dumbledore's ideas for getting our minds off of Voldemort and the disturbing reports that are starting to appear. I'm lost in thought for a moment when I hear a nearby giggle.

"_Ooo_, Ginny – are you and Colin really thinking about trying out?"

"Of course we will. We can enter a dance, right, Gin?"

I turn to him in surprise. _Us_ in an artistic competition? We've barely been dancing a month! But the look on Colin's face is so hopeful that I don't know what to say.

"Well…"

"You dance, Ginny?" suddenly comes a voice from over my shoulder.

I look up in surprise. It's Harry, peering down at the notice. He's obviously on his way out to Quidditch practice and just overheard us as he was passing, but I still nearly drop the paper from shock that he bothered. Nearly, but I instantly recover. I open my mouth –

"No, she doesn't!"

Ron, the prat, pushes him aside to gawk at the notice. Then he turns to Harry to ever-so-helpfully elaborate.

"She hasn't danced since she crashed into the punch bowl at our mother's third cousin's wedding reception."

As if by some perverse cue, Fred and George appear on either side of him.

"Ah, the memories…," says Fred.

"Caused quite the scene, that did," adds George.

"Everyone thought she'd been put under the Imperius Curse."

"They had to use a Hover Charm to lift Great Aunt Melly out of the fish pond."

"That… that was _ages_ ago – and it was Fred's fault!"

"I beg your pardon – _I_ made you lunge at the banquet table?"

"You tripped me!" Out of the corner of my eye I can see Harry watching me, but I can't read his expression. It hardly matters; I can feel my face burning.

"She does _so_ dance," snaps Hermione as she pulls Ron back by the collar. She looks at me apologetically. "She's been in the Dance Club since term started. Honestly, don't any of you even know your own sister?"

"Ginny…" Ron looks down at me curiously, cocking an eyebrow. "Since when did you like to dance? D'you even know how?"

I roll my eyes.


	5. Preliminaries

**Chapter Five – Preliminaries**

Friday arrives. Colin and I are waiting our turn outside the audition room with several other hopeful students, and I'm wondering once again how I got talked into this. No, that's not really true; I know exactly why I'm here. Once we learned from Professor Flitwick that we needn't have a finalized act for the audition, it didn't take much for Colin to convince me that we should at least give it a try. We've practiced every night since on a simple routine – _every_ night. I'm sure we can do it in our sleep by now. And yet I feel so….

Judging from the way people are shifting and whispering, I can tell that most are nervous. Colin is next to me, rocking so hard on his heels that he's almost bouncing. I'm also jittery, but truth be told, I'm more anxious to start. The breakfast scene from last week is once again preying on my mind.

I'm not mad at Ron – well, yes, I _am_, but you see, I'm used to that sort of thing from my brothers. And in front of Harry – well, I'm used to that, too. But it's not just Ron or the twins or Harry that's been bothering me. It's the combination of Ron _and_ Fred _and_ George _and_ Harry… oh, I'm not making any sense.

It's like this. All my life, I think, I've been living in the shadow of my family. I'm not like Ron, though: he feels the pressure of being the youngest brother. I, on the other hand, feel the pressure of being both the youngest child and only daughter. Yes, there are expectations on Ron, though personally I think that his own are greater than what he thinks we want from him. But they're still there.

And that's just it – Ron at least has those expectations. But as for _me_… they don't expect anything out of me at all. I don't know why it is but somehow I've been growing more aware of this over the past few years, and there are times like that scene in the dining hall when I can't help but feel it strongly. I'm starting to think that my family doesn't believe in me. Or what's worse… maybe… or maybe it's that they just don't trust me.

…Oh, please let it not be that.

I feel my stomach start to knot. I can see why Harry goes off food whenever he has a Quidditch match. I think I'll die if I lose my dinner during the audition. Oh, wouldn't that be wonderful –

"Colin Creevey… Ginny Weasley…" Professor McGonagall's voice echoes in the hallway, snapping me out of my melancholy. I notice that Colin is watching me.

"Ginny, are you okay? You look kind of tense."

This from a boy who is about to wear a hole through the floor.

"I'm fine, Colin… just a little nervous." I smile at him and he nods. As we start to move through the door I suddenly grab his arm, pulling him back. He gives me an alarmed look.

"Colin, let's… let's just do our very best and leave it at that, all right?"

He grins, relieved. "Sure, Ginny."

We enter the room and take our positions before the panel of judges. Arms out, check; hand on shoulder, check; hand on waist, check. We stare nervously at each other, and then Colin winks and squeezes my hand. I smile, feeling a weight lifting off me. We can do this in our sleep, after all. The music starts and we begin.


	6. Results

**Chapter Six – Results**

Today is Saturday. I'm sitting in the library doodling on a notebook. It's gloomy outside and I'm feeling rather lazy. My Transfiguration book is lying unopened on the table and I know I should be doing my homework, but I'm just not in the mood. Hopefully Hermione will be along soon and she'll motivate me into starting. Besides, I haven't had a good chat with her in awhile. There are some things we can only talk about with each other.

I realize I'm humming and I expect Madame Pince will come over to shush me any moment now. It must be because of the audition. I think Colin and I surprised ourselves with how well it went. And now I can't stop thinking about dancing. My mind is wandering back to the Yule Ball – specifically, on the robes I wore that night. They weren't bad, even for second-hand. Mum really did pick them with care, and they only needed a tiny bit of mending. I had Colin snap a photo of me before I went down to the Ball so I could send it back to her. I think she was very pleased; she owled me to let me know that Neville "seemed like a very respectable young man, and I hope you had a lovely time dancing together." Well, one out of two, Mum.

I hear a commotion in the doorway and look up, expecting Hermione, but it's a group of my classmates. They head straight for me.

"Congratulations, Ginny!"

"Oh, isn't it exciting?"

"I can't believe you guys did it!"

"What?" I frown at them. "What are you all going on about?"

"You and Colin, silly – you've both come out near the top of the cut list! It's posted right outside of the Great Hall. Didn't you see it when you went to breakfast?"

I knew I shouldn't have skipped. I'm sure my mouth is hanging open because they burst out laughing at me. Then I spot Colin coming up behind them. His face is split in an ear-to-ear grin.

"Ginny, so you've heard, eh?"

"I… y-yes," I murmur. I'm feeling a bit of shock, truthfully. "I can hardly believe it."

He gives me a flabbergasted look.

"You can't…? Why ever not, after all those nights we practiced? And you see what happened? So start believing it! Come on, admit it, Ginny – aren't you glad we tried out?"

I smile in spite of myself. Trust Colin's unflagging natural enthusiasm to override any notions of self-doubt.

"Yes, I am," I agree. I'm starting to feel rather good about this. Colin, however, is still caught up in cheering me on.

"Excellent! You'll see, Ginny, we're going to be great – and with all the more reason, too. Because you know what this means, right? You and I – we get to compete for Gryffindor!"

Compete for Gryffindor. For House points. In front of the entire school. My brothers, and… Harry.

_Oh, oh, oh, oh…_

I pull out a chair and fairly yank Colin into it. Everyone stares.

"It means we'd better come up with a dance routine. And quickly," I add.

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We spend most of the morning throwing out ideas, but neither of us can agree on what to do. Colin wants to do something modern; I'm more interested in something traditional. Ultimately we agree that, whatever it is, it can't be boring or make us look stupid, especially in front of the entire school. But nothing seems appealing.

We finally give up and head down to lunch. I deliberately choose a spot not far from Ron and the others. I'm hoping for the opportunity to make him eat his words. But after five minutes I realize I shouldn't bother – Ron can be so completely oblivious to anything that happens outside his little sphere. Actually, the same holds true for Harry, but then he's not my brother. Thankfully.

I'm already halfway through my stew when Hermione comes to sit next to me.

"I heard the news – congratulations, Ginny." She squeezes my arm. "And you too, Colin. So what have you two planned on performing?"

Colin and I trade a glance, and we both sigh.

"Still working on it," Colin mumbles, quite unlike his usual self. The long morning has worn him down.

"Haven't a clue, really," I mutter. The day hasn't done much for me either.

"Why?" asks Hermione, looking between us. "What's wrong?"

"We're having some trouble trying to figure out what kind of dance to use," admits Colin, rather diplomatically in my opinion.

She gives us a thoughtful look.

"I see. Well… rather than deciding on the type of dance right now, maybe you could choose a piece of music, or perhaps a favorite story, and then choreograph your dance to fit it. Most dance performances tell a story, after all. That's something the audience can readily relate to."

I immediately perk up. Use a story? I turn to Colin and see that he's in favor of the idea, too. Hermione, meanwhile, is starting to reminisce.

"My parents once took me to see the Royal Ballet when I was little and I remember how lovely it was. The ballet we saw was called Swan Lake – that's a Muggle fairy tale, Ginny; a lot of dances are based on them, actually – not that you'd have to do the same, of course – but anyway it was _so_ romantic and tragic, and I remember how even my Dad…."

But I'm only half listening, as my own memories are resurfacing. A Muggle fairy tale….


	7. A Muggle Tale

**Chapter Seven – A Muggle Tale**

That afternoon we're back digging through the library, looking through the books of literature used by students in Advanced Muggle Studies. I remember some of these stories from when I was younger – there was a book titled _Grimm's Fairy Tales_ buried in a box out in the shed, and I snuck it into my room to read late at night. I read it twice over before Mum confiscated it. She called it "a pack of silly, misinformed rubbish" and warned that I'd ruin my education. But I had found the so-called "fairy tales" oddly romantic. Not that I ever said as much.

Right now I'm holding a book called _Best Loved Folktales of the World_. I browse through the table of contents and pick out a story that I remember.

"What do you think about this one?"

I slide the book across the table to Colin with my finger very clearly pointing to the title. He glances at it and I see his mouth twitch. I'm surprised to see that he looks a bit uncomfortable.

"Er, _Snow White_? I'm not really sure that's such a good idea."

"So what's wrong with it this time?" I ask. He's been nixing most of my suggestions all afternoon.

"For starters, it's the same problem as before. I don't see how we can fit all this into a short number. And there are too many characters as well."

"But we don't have to do it all; we could just pick one part to work out. And if you think about it, the only important roles are the girl, the prince, and the queen, so then we'll just choose to do something between Snow White and the Prince."

"But then there's really just the one big scene." Colin looks down at the table. He seems a bit fussed. "I don't know, Ginny, do you want me to play that part? I mean, he doesn't really do much of anything, except…."

Ah, I finally see his real problem. He doesn't want to play a milksop prince; he wants to be Martin Miggs.

"Oh, all right – we can use another more exciting scene. Perhaps the part where Snow White is poisoned?"

His flushed face turns sour.

"_I'm_ not playing the Queen."

"Fine – then _you_ be Snow White!" I'm starting to get frustrated. Fortunately some of our more studious-minded classmates are reentering the library just then. They all take seats at our table.

"Goodness, haven't you two finished yet? You'll miss dinner."

"Not to mention the Revue entirely if you keep this up."

I groan. Colin shrugs.

"Huh. I don't believe I've ever seen the two of _you_ stuck for words," jokes one as he glances between us. "Well, out with it – maybe we can help."

I'm rather loathe to rehash the afternoon, but nevertheless fill them in. I'm explaining the purpose behind using a fairy tale when to my surprise one of the girls, also Muggle-born like Colin, suddenly gets an excited look on her face.

"Oh, wait a minute – I think I may have an idea!"

She rummages through the pile of books on the table, pulling out a thick, leather-bound one. She quickly flips through its gold-leafed pages, finally pausing over a section. Grinning broadly, she passes the book over to me. I look down at the title:

_The Red Shoes_

by Hans Christian Andersen

"I once saw a dance adaptation of this story – it'll be perfect! It's about a girl who gets a pair of red shoes that are cursed – when she starts to dance, she can't stop, and in the end it destroys her. Don't you think that would be the perfect theme for your dance number? It would be so dramatic and haunting!"

Colin perks up. I suppose the fact there isn't a wicked queen involved anywhere immediately earns it his favor.

But I shudder.

It's not that I'm bothered by stories about enchantments – for goodness sakes, I'm a _witch_. I'm rather fond of tales where the hero has to awaken his true love with a kiss; that scenario can entertain me for hours on end. But this particular kind of enchantment leaves me cold. Enslaving a girl through a seemingly innocent magical object, losing all control so that she's forced to act against her will, driving her to her death…

No, no… oh, _no_…

"Er, Ginny – are you feeling okay?"

"I… I think I'm going to go lie down for a while. I'll catch you all later, okay?"


	8. Just A Story

**Chapter Eight – Just a Story**

I'm lying on my bed with the curtains drawn. It's very late and though I retired hours before anyone else, I'm now listening to the slumbering sounds of my roommates. The bed sheets are sticking to my body and I'd like to go take a bath, but I'm ashamed to admit… I feel much safer staying right where I am, for now.

Some Gryffindor.

At times like these I wonder if the Sorting Hat didn't make a colossal mistake by putting me here. Although there was never any other house I wanted to belong to – or that my family expected me to be in for that matter – I can't help feeling that I'm failing to measure up. Like now, for instance, when I'm trying every trick in the book not to think about what happened a few years ago.

Trick in the book. See? I can even make a joke about it...

_Rule number one: Nothing's so terrible if you can make yourself laugh._

Did it actually happen? I ask myself this only because sometimes it doesn't seem possible. When I'm here at Hogwarts – in the halls, on the grounds, at the dining table – I'm just a regular student, having fun with my friends and sailing through my studies. It will go on like this for stretches at a time. Then one day I'll be talking to Hermione, or laughing with Colin, or looking at Harry when a stray thought will pop into my head: you all nearly died because of me. And no one has ever said anything to me about it.

It just doesn't seem real. Or perhaps it's that I'm letting myself be overly morbid...

_Rule number two: It does no good to dwell on negative things._

I was told this not long afterwards, and for the most part I've stuck to that principal fairly well. It helped me immensely in the months that followed. I could go to bed at night and wake up in the morning, blissfully assured that no longer would there be inexplicably missing hours to account for, or schoolmates absent from the hallways, or the tortuous dread of being exposed for the foolish, weak, pathetic little girl Tom ultimately insisted I was.

No lasting harm had been done. _Bless_ Dumbledore; his words saved me as much as Harry's sword. I left Hogwarts determined to put that awful time completely out of my mind. Then just as I was ready to start off a new year with a clean slate, the Dementors showed up at the school, and with them… the nightmares. All the dark things still hidden in my soul.

_Rule number three: A secret is only truly that if you tell no one else about it._

There are things I can never share with anybody – not my family, Professor Dumbledore, nor even Hermione. No one I can talk to about this. No one who could really understand. Well, maybe one person, but… he's the last person in the world I want to have know such terrible things about me. If he doesn't already.

Make that a big "if."

I can't help dredging it up, humiliating though it is – how much of that diary did he actually read? It's pointless to wish that he didn't see anything embarrassing. Almost every entry was about him. Or perhaps Tom simply told him – that wouldn't surprise me at all. Regardless, he's been too kind to ever say anything. While part of me is immensely relieved, another part wonders – isn't the fact that he won't talk about it even worse?

Isn't it simply that he already _does_ think less of me?

I have to get over this. I have to put it all behind me, once and for all. I have to forget.

I don't hear the voice. I don't see the face, that hair, those eyes –

That insidious form, so like… Harry's.

For pity's sake, silly goose, it's just a _boo-_

Just a story, I mean.


	9. Skirmishes

**Chapter Nine – Skirmishes**

I'm standing next to Colin among a group of people waiting outside the dance room. I can see him giving me sidelong glances out of the corner of my eye, but I'm avoiding making eye contact. It's not really like me, but I'm afraid he's going to bring up the subject of our dance if I give him an opening and I'm still not sure what to tell him, much less anyone else. Which is turning into a bit of a challenge, given that the _topic du jour_ is the Revue.

In truth I've been feeling ill all day. Right now what I'd really like is to go back up to my room and sleep. But I don't feel right about skipping out on Colin, and what's more… I just don't want to miss the class.

So I play it safe by quizzing my companions and listening attentively to the answers; besides, I'm curious to learn more about everyone who made the cut off list. And I find it's much easier asking after other people than talking about myself.

"So Lee Jordan is also representing Gryffindor? Excellent! Do you know what he's going to do?"

"I overheard him telling the Weasleys that he wants to do a stand-up bit. And there's rumors going 'round that Fawcett plans on pulling some loony stunt – sawing herself in half on stage without the use of magic."

"Come off it – and how is she supposed to do that?"

"Dunno. Claims she's going to use "Muggle" magic."

"… But aren't Ravenclaws supposed to be the _smart_ ones?"

While the others start to lay odds on the success of Fawcett's act, one of the girls leans in towards me.

"By the way, Ginny… I heard that Pansy Parkinson is going to do a dance number, too."

"Lovely," I murmur. I discreetly glance over my shoulder to where a shrill voice is holding court near the top of the stairwell, with her face scrunched up mimicking somebody. _Bloody lovely_.

Pansy's not what you'd call a classic beauty – it's the fault of her nose, which is snub and makes her face look squashed – but even so she's nice enough looking when she dresses up. But it's not her looks that set her apart from her Slytherin groupies (though in several cases that alone would be enough): it's her attitude. She carries herself like a queen. A mean-spirited, waspish, treacherous, Evil-Stepmother-In-Waiting type queen, but regal nonetheless. And on top of all that, she's got a thing for _Draco_.

Just thinking about it makes me shudder.

Naturally, we avoid each other, but it's not overt hostility. Hermione is Pansy's one true target. In her eyes I barely even rate the backwash, which, I might add, doesn't bother me in the slightest. As I watch her gossiping with her friends, I make a mental note to steer clear of her during class from now on. I hate to say it, but I can't put it past her to try something.

"… for Hufflepuff. Speaking of which, did you know that Eloise Midgen showed up at the tryouts?"

"Midgen? Are you serious?"

"Come on, you're having us on!"

"No, it's true! I saw her entering the room myself."

The reason for everyone's surprise is due to Eloise's notorious reputation. She's been partnering with Neville since our first meeting, and together they're responsible for causing the most floor collisions. Some spectacularly embarrassing. I honestly didn't expect that she would try out by herself, but I guess that just shows me not to judge a book by its cover.

... And if Eloise isn't letting her history stop her, then why am I?

"She didn't try to dance, but I heard she tried to sing. Still didn't make the cut off list, though."

"Well, good for her, at least she tried!" I say, and I mean it wholeheartedly. I give myself a mental pinch: I've only been letting the excitement of making the Revue get to me, that's all. I'm starting to feel much better about the whole thing when I hear the girl herself, panting up the long staircase towards us.

Now, Eloise is about the nicest person you could ever hope to meet. Unfortunately, it is her sad misfortune to be saddled with some singularly bad luck for a teenaged girl. One is a persistent case of acne, which has made her the brunt of cruel teasing and driven her to extraordinary lengths for a cure. The second is a lack of coordination, which as mentioned before has been the cause of much personal humiliation. And the third of Eloise's distinguishing characteristics is that she's often running late for class.

Today is no exception. I'm on the verge of calling out a greeting to her when, to my horror, Eloise has an "episode." Somehow missing the top step, she stumbles. Stretching out her hands to keep from falling, she collides with the group of Slytherins and manages to latch on to somebody's robes. A loud rip echoes in the hallway.

I can feel the collective intake of breath around me following this scene.

"Let go of me!" shrieks Pansy.

"Oh, dear, I'm so _sorry!_ I didn't mean to, it was an accident, I was just afraid of being late –"

"_Just – Get – Away – From – Me!_"

Pansy shoves Eloise violently away from her. It's a mistake, as Eloise still has a firm grip on the robes. Everybody cringes: not even a tailor would bother wasting time trying to mend the resulting tear.

"_Oh, no!_" squeaks Eloise, staring fearfully as Pansy's face actually goes white with rage.

"Y-you… _you_… YOU CLUMSY OAF, LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE! IT'S RUINED!"

"_Please_, I'm so sorry! I'll fix it, I promise –"

"Oh, yes, as if I'd ever be stupid enough to let a moronic klutz like you try! I wouldn't want it fixed back as crooked as that _botched nose job_ of yours!"

I watch Eloise's face start to crumple and I feel myself boil over. I don't really consider myself a hot head (certainly no worse than certain members of my family) but sometimes I can't keep my tongue from flying ahead of my brain. And nothing makes me angrier faster than watching someone else get picked on – especially by a person like Miss Pug Face. I'm speaking before I realize it.

"I expect _you_ would be the authority on that, Parkinson, seeing as how your own needs the help of an expert."

My words are followed by a hush so profound I can hear the armor suits rattling at the base of the stairs.

"I _beg_ your pardon?"

"Your hearing as well, I see."

Her eyes flash with such malevolence that I instinctively reach for my wand before remembering that no one ever brings one to dance. She starts to advance on me, but I stay put. I refuse to be cowed by a bully like her, and Pansy seems to realize it as she finally comes to a stop just outside of my striking distance. She regards me threateningly for a moment, and then suddenly her scowl twists into a sneer.

"And what would a speckle-faced, frumpy little fool like you know?" Her gaze flicks contemptuously over me before leaning in to hiss nastily, "_You poorhouse scavenger!_"

I hear someone gasp. I hold my ground, but only just. That cuts a lot more than I expected. But before I can say anything back, I'm aware of Colin standing next to me.

"Only a worthless snob like you would care about a thing like that!"

Pansy doesn't miss a beat as she pivots to glare back at Colin. Her face seems to swell with rage, as she spits out her next words:

"And what's this – did Harry Potter give you the night off? Or are you just trying to get in closer with your idol by chaperoning his best friend's sister?"

Colin flushes an alarming shade of purple. His reaction shocks me; I don't think it's that deep of an insult. But I still feel indignant on his behalf, and touched by his earlier defense. He's too much of a gentleman to ever hit a girl – even a smug one, gloating openly at the effect of her palpable hit. I, on the other hand –

"MAY I REMIND YOU THAT THIS IS A DANCING CLUB, NOT A DUELING ONE," rings out Professor Sinistra's voice as she comes up the stairs behind us. Everybody freezes, waiting for the inevitable shoe to drop.

"Ten points from Gryffindor and Slytherin each, Miss Weasley, Mr. Creevey and Miss Parkinson, for fighting in the hallways. Get inside everyone. We're about to begin."

Everyone starts to file into the room after Sinistra, and I'm only too eager to follow. As I start to move past Pansy, however, she suddenly steps in my way. Her voice drips with poison.

"I see your taste in men continues to decline, Weasley. But then again I think it rather suits you – at least you're finally aiming within your range."

Flashing me a look like I'm a bug she'd sooner not deign to step on, she flounces on by me into the room.

I swear, she must be taking lessons from Draco!


	10. Maneuvering

**Chapter Ten – Maneuvering**

Class is wrapping up for the night. For its duration I've been standing at one end of the room, as physically far away from Pansy as I can manage under the circumstances. Experience gained from observing Harry and Ron's continual run-ins with Draco have taught me that, particularly for a Gryffindor, discretion really is the better part of valor. At this distance I figure I can make it to the end of the session without another run in.

I am so naive.

We've finished our cool-downs and are milling about restlessly, waiting for Professor Sinistra to give the word and dismiss us. Instead she calls out to draw our attention forward again.

"Before you leave, I want to congratulate everyone here who tried out for the Revue, regardless of whether you made the cut list or not."

She pauses to favor us with a warm smile.

"It pleases me to see how seriously so many of you have been treating your extracurricular activities, and in particular this club. I wish every one of you the best – and naturally I expect you all will do yourselves credit in the competition."

Several of us glow at this unexpected compliment. Though not quite in the league of McGonagall or Snape, Sinistra is not known for her lavish praise. We're barely allowed a moment to soak in her words, however, before an unexpected voice chimes in.

"Professor Sinistra, may I say something about that?"

Unbelievably, this comment comes from Pansy. I'm surprised she's even paying attention, as all through class she was whispering intently with her friends. I suspect their topic was me, as several times I caught nasty glances shot my way from across the floor.

"Certainly you may, Miss Parkinson."

She takes this as an invitation to make her way forward and stand next to Sinistra, who registers mild astonishment at her action. A niggling suspicion enters my mind, and while everyone's attention is fixed on Pansy, I sneak a glance over at her knot of cronies. Several of them carry plainly smug looks.

A bad feeling washes over me.

Reaching her place at last, Pansy turns to address us with what she clearly believes is a polished, winning air. To me she merely sounds simpering and affected, but then I'm admittedly biased. Still, I'm completely caught off guard by the first words out of her mouth:

"I'm sure everyone here remembers as well as I do Professor Dumbledore's comments to us at the Leaving Feast last year. By which I mean specifically – (I note Pansy hurriedly raising her voice rather pointedly here) – how that the ultimate goal of the Triwizard Tournament was to further and promote magical understanding among the larger wizarding community. And I needn't remind you how the Headmaster so memorably exhorted us to, ah, pursue greater cooperation among the Houses. In the spirit of unity, that is. To promote _friendship_ and _trust_ with each other…."

I don't know which is more absurd: that Pansy actually remembered the gist of Dumbledore's speech or that she has the gall to quote it back at us. My eyes narrow – just what is she playing at?

"And now, just like last year, the Revue presents us with a similar opportunity to display our various talents and compete for the glory of our respective Houses. A lot of people will be taking part; the competition will be fierce…."

Pansy pauses to draw breath, giving us a moment to absorb her words. Colin glances at me and I shrug back at him. Frankly, I have no more idea than he where she's heading with this.

"On that note I would also like to point out that this club has a developing reputation to uphold. Even though we put in, as Professor Sinistra has noticed, considerable effort in addition to our regular course load, not everyone in the school seems to think that this is a valid use of students' extracurricular time. Although it pains me to say it, there are some even in my own house who claim – "

"I am already well aware of Professor Snape's opinions on the matter," Sinistra coolly cuts off Pansy. A few people scowl, but unfortunately it's out of agreement: it's no secret that our Potions master has been openly deriding the merits of the Dance Club since the beginning of the year.

"Do you have a point to make, Miss Parkinson?" Sinistra prompts, her voice rather dry. "If so, I suggest you state it so that I may dismiss you all towards more… _practical pursuits_."

For the first time since Pansy began talking, I grin. Whatever her plan, she just made a serious miscalculation reminding our professor of that fact. Pansy, however, remains inexplicably unperturbed. In fact, I realize that she seems to have been waiting for this.

"Yes, Professor, I was just about to. As it stands, a great number of individual acts will be participating in the Revue – several of us among them. But instead of having so many competing against each other in the same area, wouldn't it be better to just have one group of the best performers representing the Dance Club?"

There is a general rumble of surprise among the crowd. Pansy pushes onward before anyone can interject.

"By doing so we are far more likely to finish high in the final standings. Furthermore, the Revue is an ideal place to showcase not only our talent, but also our commitment to promoting interhouse cooperation. It's an opportunity we really can't afford to miss. After all…" Pansy pauses to flash a smile that's just short of a smirk, "as the Headmaster said, '_we are strong as we are united_' – aren't we?"

A wall of silence greets her last comment, which I can only attribute to shock as I myself am completely struck dumb. Then a mass of murmuring breaks out and I glance over at Sinistra. To my horror I see from the expression on her face that she is actually taking Pansy seriously. And judging from the conversations around me, Sinistra's not the only one.

A prickling of anger shoots through me. I finally see what Pansy's really aiming at. No matter what hollow altruism she spouts, the plain truth is that she is a very good dancer – she's even had private lessons. It about made me sick when I saw her pirouetting in the corridor before the audition. And she's not the only one among her group with experience, either. Trust Pansy to think up a way to eliminate most of her competition and look good doing it.

Before I can say anything, however, a third year Hufflepuff speaks up.

"But this isn't… that is, we're _supposed_ to be representing our…" She falters, looking perplexed. "I mean, even if we agree to do this, what becomes of the House points?"

Pansy plasters on her most sympathetic expression as she appears to carefully ponder this.

"Well… it's true that those of us competing want to support our own House, but don't forget that in this case if we win the points would be shared among the group, so there's actually a greater chance of many houses benefiting. And there will still be other acts from every House entered in the Revue. Now, it would require a small sacrifice on the part of those of us who belong to the Dance Club – that is, if we're willing to put aside our own interests and _cooperate_…"

Her words have a calculated effect, for I notice many in the room shuffling quietly, now appearing to be convinced. Then a sixth year Ravenclaw makes a point.

"Cooperation is well and good, but exactly how are we going to pick who all gets to represent us?" He looks at Pansy pointedly. "I don't know if I care for just one person having control over that, even if it was her idea to begin with."

For a brief second Pansy's eyes flash, but her countenance remains steady as she smoothly continues on.

"Naturally, a simple process of elimination should be good enough to determine who will be included… perhaps by having all interested parties perform a routine in front of the entire class? We can leave it to Professor Sinistra to have the final say – if that's all right with you, Professor?"

Sinistra nods her assent and the boy falls quiet. His housemates give a mumble of approval, seemingly satisfied that there will be an impartial party in charge of the judging and a fair shot at qualifying. And at that moment I know that Sinistra and the majority of the club are now fully in support of Pansy's suggestion.

A great sinking feeling like a lead weight fills my stomach. It's not that I necessarily have a problem with entering the Revue as a group. It's really not a bad idea; I could readily support it – if it had come out of anyone else's mouth. But Pansy can dance circles around the rest of us; she will undoubtedly be made the lead. And I…

I just want a chance to shine on my own.

I turn again to observe Pansy and immediately regret it. She is gauging the crowd with an indecent air of satisfaction, knowing that she's won. Meanwhile, Professor Sinistra clears her throat.

"It is a worthwhile suggestion, Miss Parkinson. I must say I am impressed with your initiative as well. It is certainly something I would like to pursue – that is, if you are all agreed?"

Sinistra looks around the room for consensus. The Hufflepuff girl speaks up again.

"Well, I can't say that I wasn't looking forward to entering on my own – but I think it's a splendid idea. I for one am willing to agree to it."

Several people nod, among them the Ravenclaw boy. His face has taken on a dark expression.

"Yeah, I'm with you," he adds heatedly. "And beyond that, I'd really like to prove to everyone that we're not a bunch of… of… _dainty dilettantes!_" he finally spits out, fixing on one of Snape's choice slurs.

A roar of approval greets his words.

"You said it!"

"Hear, hear!"

"It's so unfair!"

"Then if we're all of one mind," breaks in Pansy, eyes glowing exultantly, "Let's vote on it. All in favor –"

"HEY, WAIT A MINUTE!"

This comment bursts out unexpectedly from Colin. The room turns en masse to stare, causing him to hesitate momentarily, but he continues doggedly on:

"I just wanted to point out – er, even should we all decide to go along with this – not that I think that's a bad idea, mind – but what kind of dance are we going to end up performing? Don't those of us already entered at least get to decide _that_?"

He looks around for support, but is met by sea of impassive faces.

"I mean… it's just that… see, Ginny and I've… we've already spent a lot of time planning out our number," he finishes, somewhat lamely.

_We have?_ I think to myself.

"Oh, really?" asks Pansy in a casually disinterested voice. "If it's so good, why not share it with the rest of us then?"

Colin pauses. Then he shoots me an uncertain glance before facing Pansy resolutely. My heart clenches in ominous foreboding.

"Well, we're thinking about using a fairy tale as the basis for our act."

At the blank looks on most people's faces, Colin clarifies.

"A fairy tale – it's a kind of Muggle fantasy story."

Pansy rolls her eyes.

"A _Muggle_ story? How… droll."

"Many Muggle myths, though fanciful, are based in actual fact, Miss Parkinson, as you should undoubtedly know," admonishes Sinistra as she gazes thoughtfully at Colin. "And it's also true that many of them have been interpreted through dance. Out of curiosity, Mr. Creevey, which story are you thinking of using?"

"Um, it's called _The Red Shoes_. It's about a girl who…"

It's strange. As he stands not three feet away from me summarizing the story for the benefit of the class, I am suddenly overcome by an odd deafness. My mind floats away in a haze as the world dims around me. The room, so cheery and light, feels cavernous and tomb like; the faces of my schoolmates impersonal and statuesque.

_It's so cold in here_, I think.

"…and that's pretty much the gist of it," finishes Colin, startling me back to myself.

"_Urgh!_ That's kind of morbid, isn't it?" exclaims a first year Gryffindor.

"Actually, it sounds rather cool," a fourth year Slytherin snickers before being elbowed into silence by his friends.

Sinistra, however, is considering us shrewdly.

"Have you planned out the choreography yet?"

"Er, no… I mean, not _yet_," Colin reluctantly admits. I flush – Pansy is glittering at me triumphantly from behind our professor's back.

"I see… but I'm sure you'll figure that out. In any case, Mr. Creevey and Miss Weasley – provided that you want to participate with the Club, that is – would you consider presenting your act for our final decision? I am especially interested in seeing what you come up with. It's an intriguing idea."

Ooo, if looks could kill.


	11. Essential Choreography

**Chapter Eleven – Essential Choreography**

"We're dead."

Colin and I are plodding back towards Gryffindor tower at our regular gait, though in my mind it's more of a death march: I can feel the weight of doom pulling at me with every step.

"I'm sorry, Ginny, I just couldn't think of what else to say." Colin's voice is half-apologetic, half-defiant. "I didn't mean to put us on the spot like that, but I couldn't _not_ say anything and she got me so wound up –."

"It's all right, Colin," I cut him off shortly. "It's water under the bridge now."

It's not really, but what else am I to say to Colin? I'm a little upset with him for being rash, but far angrier at Parkinson. And, truth be told, a bit vexed at myself for reacting like a nutter yet feeling gratified at having been singled out by Sinistra – all because of that _damned fairy tale_…

… Honestly. Now I'm just being stupid again. Mostly I can't help fuming at being backed into a corner by that sneaky, underhanded _cow_ –

"So you're fine with using that Muggle story, then?"

Something about Colin's voice makes me glance over, but I quickly turn away, not quite able to meet him in the eye. At this moment I'd much rather he didn't look too closely. I shrug noncommittally, and keep my voice cool.

"Never mind the story. We've got a bigger problem than that. It's not the subject that Sinistra's going to judge, it's the performance."

Somehow saying this out loud crystallizes our anxieties. Colin and I come to an abrupt halt, to look at each other in dismay. We don't need to say anything aloud: we cannot even get past choosing a form, much less plan out an entire routine. The only reason we agreed on our audition waltz was because it was the only one we both felt least likely of bungling.

"I'm sure we'll think of something," Colin mumbles. I can only nod stiffly. We'll do it and die trying. If only Parkinson didn't have to be a member of the audience.

We're starting to head up a staircase when a familiar voice calls out to us from behind.

"Ginny! Colin! Hey, wait up!"

We turn to see a red-faced Neville Longbottom hurrying down the long corridor towards us, and being dragged along next to him by the upper arm – Eloise Midgen. As they draw close, I can see that Eloise looks extremely nervous, but Neville has a determined glint in his eyes. They come to a halt before us.

"Eloise - has something - she wants - to ask you," Neville tells us between gasps. Turning to Eloise, he nudges her slightly and says kindly, "Go on. Tell them - what you told me - during the meeting."

"I-I want to help you guys," stammers Eloise, quite embarrassed. "W-with your dance, I mean."

"Er… you do?" Colin asks cautiously.

We exchange glances and I can tell he's thinking the same thing I am – Eloise isn't much of a dancer herself to be offering help to anyone. I chew my lip, wondering what I should say. Even knowing this I have no desire to hurt her feelings by turning her down flat.

Eloise already seems to know what we're thinking, however. Blushing fiercely, she looks down at the floor.

"Listen, I'm aware that I… I'm a terrible dancer, and I can't stop myself from tripping all over the place, but… please understand, that's _not_ what I wanted to do for you."

"Er… it's not?" blurts out Colin with an audible air of relief. I cringe inwardly, but Eloise doesn't seem to be put off. She sighs deeply and, surprisingly, looks us in the eye. Her face is still flushed, but now with determination.

"The whole reason why I joined the Dance Club to begin with is that I really adore _choreography_. Every time I read a new story or hear a new song, my imagination can't stay still. I love visualizing all the footwork for a piece; I can spend hours a day just thinking about how I'd plan out everything out. And even if I can't quite manage to stay on my feet, I still… just want to know what it feels like. For a real dancer."

Eloise pauses, probably at the startled expressions on our faces. It strikes me how much it must be costing her to admit this openly to us, and I feel for her. She must be so frustrated with the club by now. I certainly would be.

"All I'm asking is… please let me help with your audition. That dance you've chosen – when you were talking about it, Colin, my brain starting working again, and I think I could give you some help… with the choreography, you know… That is, if you didn't mind…."

Eloise trails off uncertainly, as Colin and I turn to stare at each other.

"Ah, look… I didn't mean anything by it. I just thought that after what happened today I should –."

We leap forward, each grabbing hold of an arm, startling her. Neville grins broadly.

"Are you kidding? OF COURSE we want your help!"

"You're an absolute _angel!_ When can you start?"

Eloise breaks into a shy smile. It lights up her face.

----------

Eloise, Colin, and I are sitting at a table in a corner of the library, keeping our voices down lest we attract Madam Pince's wrath. Neville has tagged along, which is perfectly fine, as he's certainly earned the right. I'll have to thank him properly later.

Right now I can't help but be impressed with Eloise. In short order, she quickly read the original fairy tale and then listened politely as Colin and I filled her in on our "concerns." And if nothing else, she's a good mediator: she managed to cut right through the heart of our disagreements and gotten us to listen to her. No small feat, I must admit.

I'm starting to feel like things aren't so hopeless for us after all.

"Hmm…." Eloise drums the edge of the table while she pauses to consider something, the rest of us waiting patiently for her to speak. Finally, she looks satisfied enough to fill us in:

"Well, we do have a few problems, but I think we can work around them."

"Go on," prompts Colin, his usual chipper voice returning for the first time in days. It makes me wonder what my voice has sounded like for the past week. Petulant like Mum's when she's in a mood, I'll bet.

"First, the Revue rules only give us a limited amount of time to present our act, and even though this story isn't that long, we're still going to have to make some changes."

I think she's being prematurely optimistic about our chances of becoming the Dance Club's entry act, but I keep my peace.

"Another problem is that there are only two of you – but I think we can manage something, at least for Sinistra and the Club."

"What do you have in mind?" I ask.

Eloise looks over at me, suddenly beaming.

"There's the role of Karen, the poor, proud girl – she's central to the story, of course, so that will be your part, Ginny."

I merely nod, unsure if I care too much for the description. Eloise then casts Colin an apologetic look.

"But that also means, Colin, you'll end up having to perform multiple roles."

"Just so long as none of them are queens," Colin quips as he gives me a wink.

"Er…," hems Eloise, unsure if he's joking, while Neville laughs. I roll my eyes, but with amusement rather than annoyance.

"Seriously, though, we need at least three other parts to make this work: Karen's old guardian, the beggar who curses the shoes, and the executioner."

Colin's smile slips and I feel a twinge of misgiving. But Eloise continues blithely on:

"However, as this is being judged by the Club, let's not think about planning out a complete production. I think we should stick to the most fundamental scenes – starting with when the beggar curses Karen to when the executioner cuts off her feet. You two alone will be able to do that. And if the Club likes it, well… we can go from there."

Eloise looks anxiously around the table for approval. Of course, Colin and even Neville are both nodding, agreeing with this perfectly sensible course of action. Of course we should stick to the most dramatic scenes of the story. Keep it simple, keep it crisp – perfectly sensibly practical. Of course.

A rising panic is building inside me. I quickly squelch it down with dreams of tap dancing violently across Pansy Parkinson's face. It's working; I feel calmer… _calmer_…

Meanwhile, plans are already underway.

"Are you sure there won't be a problem with my playing both the beggar and the executioner?"

"Neither will be on stage at the same time. But you'll have to do a fast costume change."

"How about the part where Colin curses the shoes?" asks Neville. "Do you think he'll be allowed to take his wand onstage, if it's only for show?"

"I don't think there are any rules that expressly forbid it. But I'll check with Sinistra to be sure."

"And what are we going to do about the climax scene, where Ginny loses her feet?"

"I guess we should have an axe hidden somewhere on stage. I'm sure Fawcett won't mi –."

"WE ARE NOT HACKING MY FEET OFF!!!"

My outburst draws the attention of everyone within our immediate vicinity, including (who else?) Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who are doing homework at a nearby table. I vaguely wonder if Hermione is debating exercising her prefect duties – perhaps she won't, if Ron doesn't back her up. Regardless, the damage is done: I can feel my face glowing like a cherry. And everyone is staring at me blankly.

"Well, of course not, Ginny… it's just an act. We'd only be simulating the action."

"You can't drop that scene – it's the whole heart of the story, losing her feet!"

"We don't have to use a real axe, if that's what's bothering you. I'm sure we could find a prop or something."

I stand there looking back at them, feeling incredibly foolish. Why did I react like that? Now I have to tell them something, quickly….

But, as it turns out, I don't. Madame Pince has finally zeroed in on the source of the noise.

"CAN'T YOU READ THE RULES? HAVE YOU NO MANNERS? THERE IS NO SHOUTING IN THE LIBRARY!!!"

I suppose there are worse humiliations than being chased out of a library by a screaming banshee in full view of friends, family, and would-be lovers. I should know; I'm keeping track.


	12. Brotherly Advice

**Chapter Twelve – Brotherly Advice**

The Dance Club group tryout is set for the middle of the following week in front of the class. I've come to see it as a competition between Parkinson and myself, so after the incident in the library, I'm being very careful to be completely amenable to any suggestion put forth by the others. A good thing, as the next day we set to work immediately on Eloise's plan.

We're practicing in an unused classroom on one of the upper floors of the castle. True to her word, Eloise has a whole routine worked out and wants us to use a modern form of dancing, which currently seems to be popular in the Muggle world. The piece isn't very long, starting with the part where Karen is cursed and begins to dance. Eloise claims this will be enough for our audition; I privately feel it has more to do with my fuss over the axe. Regardless, it's plenty for Colin and me to learn in a matter of days – no more free time between now and the tryout. That first night we're up so late we accidentally miss the curfew and have a harrowing jaunt through the corridors, avoiding Filch and Peeves as we make for our respective common rooms. And the next day we're at it again.

The weekend arrives and, to my mind, passes in blur of endless repetition. For all her lack of coordination, Eloise has a good eye and proves surprisingly patient, working to redirect our missteps which thankfully become less frequent. Neville, too, joins our group as something of a silent cheerleader. By Monday Colin and I are in good spirits – we're starting to believe that we won't make complete prats of ourselves, though I can't fool myself and say that we're brilliant. More to my surprise, I'm actually starting to have fun.

How has this happened? Somehow in the past few days I've gotten over my dislike for the story. Perhaps it's because I can sympathize with the heroine, Karen, just a bit. She is poor, after all, and I can certainly understand that. I know what it's like to yearn for something bright and new and beautiful; that belongs to you alone and that you can never have.

I suddenly think of Harry.

I smile. Harry is no pair of red shoes to me. But seriously, poor or not, I can't imagine valuing a thing over another person, especially one's friends and family. On this point I don't understand Karen at all…

But then, it _was_ enchanted.

I'm not liking this train of thought. Karen's downfall, I remind myself firmly, is that she was vain, a trait which immediately summons Pansy Parkinson to my mind. This in turn drives any other errant thoughts away, as I focus on the real goal behind all this effort: beating that scheming cow come Wednesday.

And I don't need a pair of magic slippers to do that.

That night when I climb into the Gryffindor common room, I'm so worn out that I drag myself over to the fireplace and collapse unceremoniously into a chair. I'm debating whether it's worth the effort to climb the stairs to my dormitory when I hear a disapproving cluck come from somewhere over my shoulder.

"Not a very attractive pose for a girl your age, Ginny, affecting an old lady dozing by the fire."

"Shut it, George," I say grumpily, not much in the mood for brotherly teasing.

"_Oi_, nice mouth," says Fred. "It seems we're not wanted, George. Well, no matter." He gives me an annoying pat on the head. "Ickle Ginnykins needs her bed rest, so let's leave her to it."

The prats leave laughing and I'm too tired to hex them right now. It'll have to wait for tomorrow. I've just about summoned enough energy to move myself again when another familiar voice breaks in.

"All right, Ginny?" asks Ron. I crack open an eye to see him watching me from a nearby chair.

"Nothing a week of uninterrupted sleep couldn't cure," I manage to mumble. I expect him to make a smart remark to that, but instead he frowns.

"You're always tired and busy these days, and it's not even _your_ O.W.L. year. I don't get it, Ginny. Do you really like your club that much? Why _dancing_?"

It figures. Over the last few weeks I'd forgotten all about wanting to make him and the twins take my interests seriously for once. And now that Ron is expressing real curiosity, I'm too tired to care.

"I don't know… why _Quidditch_, Ron?" I throw back at him.

The look he sends me is half incredulous that I can ask something so thick, and half confused for much the same reason.

"It's _Quidditch_. It's only the best… the most exhili-… just fanta-… It's _Quidditch_," he sputters out, at a loss for sufficient words.

"And there you are," I reply coolly.

Ron falls quiet, and I can see he's thinking about that. I finally find the strength to stand up. As I start to move towards the stairs, Ron stops me.

"Okay, I get that, but… are you sure there isn't more to it?"

The question startles me enough that I pause to look at him askance. "What do you mean by that?"

"Hey, it's all right if it means that much to you… just don't get so wrapped up in it you make yourself sick, you know?"

"_Tuh_, Ron…" I mutter, somewhat annoyed by this unexpected mothering.

Unfazed, he fixes me with an unexpectedly serious look. "Gin, all I'm saying is you know you can come to me whenever something's bothering you, right?"

Once again I'm brought to a halt, this time by a warm feeling filling my insides.

"Yes, Ron." I flash him a smile. Sometimes he's such a wonderful, lovely, dear brother…

"It's not a guy, is it?" he suddenly asks, frowning suspiciously.

Oh, brother.


	13. Seeing Red

**Chapter Thirteen – Seeing Red**

The day of our presentation to Sinistra and the Club arrives.

I go to breakfast. I go to class. I repeat the circuit once more around midday, and for a third time near sunset. Then I return to the dormitory for a change of clothes, and give myself one last mental pep talk before the dressing mirror. After that I go down to meet Colin and Neville in the common room, and once Eloise joins us outside the Fat Lady, we all leave together for the Club's balcony room.

I'm not thinking much of anything on my last journey through the castle. I know I've done everything I could to get ready for this moment, and so have the others. There's nothing left but to do the deed. Yet still I can't help silently wishing that I had something more to drive me on tonight than simply one-upping Pansy, no matter how gratifying the thought...

As I ascend the staircase towards the classroom, I see Pansy waiting outside along with the members of her clique - and surprisingly across the aisle from them almost all the remaining members of the Club. I raise my brows.

"Good luck, Ginny! Good luck, Colin!" calls out a little Ravenclaw girl.

"We're counting on you all," adds a Hufflepuff.

The Slytherins scowl at them, and I realize that there's more hopes than mine alone riding on this performance. No one else wants to see Pansy wind up in charge of whatever act the Club presents at the Revue.

Suddenly, I'm feeling much more heartened.

Pansy, of course, is keenly aware of the tide of support on our side, though trying to play it cool. As I near the Slytherins, she leans forward and simpers at me:

"Break a leg, Weasley. I mean that _sincerely_, you know."

I mimic her phony smile as I glide right up to her.

"I certainly will, Parkinson, but not for _your_ benefit."

Then I turn my back on her snarling face and enter the room.

----------

The verdict is delivered the next day at the conclusion of Dance. Professor Sinistra calls for our attention and then announces her decision: the Club will be performing _The Red Shoes_ for the Revue with Eloise's choreography, and Colin and I would keep our parts, while auditions for the remaining roles would occur the following week. Excitement breaks out among the group, and Eloise, Colin and I receive a round of hearty congratulations from various directions. The flabbergasted expression on Eloise's face especially buoys my heart with a warm feeling, but it's a darker sense of satisfaction that makes me turn and stare at Pansy, who looks as if she's swallowed something horrible.

_Thank you, Parkinson_, I mouth at her. She fumes.

But my merriment at this outcome lasts for a scant few seconds more before Sinistra adds another announcement:

"I'm very pleased that you all are so supportive of this choice. I also know that many of you are eager to have a role on stage, but I want to remind everyone that we will also need off-stage help to carry off this performance. Additionally, all of you who land dancing parts will need appropriate clothing for your roles. Unfortunately, Miss Midgen, I'm afraid we don't have a costuming budget, so please take that into consideration in your planning. However, Miss Weasley, _you_ particularly will need to have the proper shoes for the role. We can't very well have a performance called '_The Red Shoes_' without them, after all. All right, now that's all been said - class dismissed!"

I look down at my shoes. They haven't been faring too well. All the extra sessions with Colin have really taken their toll. What's worse, they're not even proper dancing shoes – they're actually my spare pair. My "best" shoes – the ones I wore to the Yule Ball last year – have become my everyday pair. My heart sinks as I realize Sinistra's right. I can hide them somewhat under my robes but for the performance everyone will have to see my feet.

Worry suddenly grips me. I _can't_ afford a new pair, much less red! They'd have to be brown or black, for everyday…. I suppose I could try to borrow some. Or perhaps I could charm my everyday pair to red. But they would still be scruffy and ugly, only red… And regardless, they still wouldn't be proper dancing shoes.

I see Pansy looking over me nastily. Her face clearly tells me that she knows I can't afford such a luxury. I tense.

People are passing by me on their way out. Longing for my own escape, I turn and quietly make for the door. I'm three steps away… two… _one_ –

"If anyone has a spare pair, I'm sure Weasley would be ever so grateful!"

I could die.


End file.
